Beyond the Border
by Sloane Renaud
Summary: Sloan Renaud is a new student at Hogwarts. Previously from Beauxbatons Academy in France, what awaits him in Britain, where he has to worry about not only passing his N.E.W.Ts, but one of his new friends who is a participant in the Triwizard Tournament?


**"**_**Episkey**_**."** Murmured a young man of approximately seventeen, the wand he held in his left hand aimed at the bleeding cut on his right index finger. A wry smile graced his lips when the wound immediately healed itself, most of the blood clearing up along with it. Ever since he'd turned the legal age to use magic outside of school, the teenager had been using his magical talents for most of the minor inconveniences that came with everyday life. Initially his mother had been against such a careless use of magic, but after a short while she began to appreciate having magic around the house once again. Retrieving a sheet of paper towel from the kitchen counter, he cleaned the rest of the blood from his finger and placed the dirty knife in the kitchen sink, his head craning around towards the kitchen door. **"La mère, le petit déjeuner est prêt!"** He called out, placing a bowl filled with various sliced fruits on the kitchen counter. As he busied himself with wiping down the bench, he heard the familiar sound of his mothers high-heeled footsteps, muffled somewhat as they descended the staircase. **"Bonjour, chéri. Est-ce que vous êtes prêts à partir?"** Inquired Chantal Renaud, as she entered the kitchen and elegantly sank onto one of the many stools lining the bench, her graceful movements making it quite clear that she was far more than a mere human, or even a witch. **"Presque."** Replied her son before he pressed his lips to her forehead and made to leave the kitchen.

Entering his bedroom, a soft sigh slipped through Sloan's lips. Of course, he'd fibbed to his mother; he hadn't even started packing his trunk yet. However, as per usual, Sloan Renaud had been the first awake in the household that morning, having risen with the sun to organise the things he'd need for the school year at Hogwarts. All of his clothes were folded in neat piles on his bed, his books were in tidy stacks and all of the other various tidbits had been placed into a single pile. Raising his wand, he gave his wrist a short flick as he uttered the word **"**_**Pack**_**"**, causing the various belongings to float up off of the bed and begin to arrange themselves in his trunk, which already lay open and waiting at the foot of his bed. Once he had double checked everything and was certain that he had what he needed for his final year at school, he closed the trunk and picked it up, carrying it back to his bedroom door. Glancing over his shoulder, Sloan's gaze swept across the room once more, before he readjusted his grasp on the trunk and made his way back down the staircase.

Reentering the kitchen, he placed his trunk on the floor and threw a wary glance at the clock. It was still only nine fourty-five in the morning, so he had plenty of time. Still, he had always been rather neurotically tardy, although he preferred to think of it as 'organised'. Besides, he'd never even been to Kings Cross Station before, let alone Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

**"Au revoir, mère. Je vous verrai dans les vacances."** He said, almost reluctantly drawing his mother into a warm hug. For as long as he could remember, goodbyes had always been difficult and drawn out with his mother, no doubt due to the death of his father all those years ago. **"Au revoir, chéri. S'il vous plaît, n'oubliez pas d'écrire. Faites attention, je vous manquerai."** She said quietly, practically clinging to her only son. After prying out of his mother's tight grasp, Sloan brushed his lips against the side of her head and turned away, picking up his trunk at the door before he entered the living room. Approaching the fireplace, he scooped up a small handful of Floo powder and tossed it into the coals, waiting for the flames to turn a bright shade of emerald before he stepped into them. Keeping his arms firmly by his sides and clutching the handle of his trunk tighter, he closed his eyes and voiced his destination. **"The Leaky Cauldron, Diagon Alley, London."** And with that said the flames rose higher, gradually wrapping around his figure until they seemingly devoured him, leaving no trace that Sloan had ever been in the fireplace when they finally died back down again.

Stumbling out of the fireplace, Sloan gazed curiously around the odd little pub, a quizzical eyebrow cocked. After a few moments of consideration, he decided that 'the Leaky Cauldron' was indeed a fitting name for such an establishment. He said nothing, however, and after dusting himself off he nodded politely at the barkeep and left through the front door. Stepping out into the crowded London street, his stare intent, the male practically leapt out in front of the first taxi that came along, forcing it to stop short of running him over. **"Kings Cross Station, please."** He said, trying to speak as slowly and as clearly as possible for the cab driver. Sloan, after all, did fit the cliché that the French spoke too quickly, and he figured that the easier he made things on the cab driver, the quicker he would get to the train station.

It was not a long trip to the station, perhaps twenty minutes or so, including all of the traffic. After handing the driver a few pounds - courtesy of his mother - he climbed out of the cab, retrieved his trunk and began to search for the so-called platform nine-and-three quarters. It sounded ridiculous to Sloan, of course, but he knew nothing about British humour and thus gradually found himself standing in between platforms nine and ten, his expression clearly confused. Just as he was about to go and ask a conductor for some help, he noticed a couple of teens only a few years younger than him walk into what he assumed was a brick wall - but miraculously, they walked straight through it. Gaping at the brickwork in wonder, he watched as another teenager walked through it, and without another moment of hesitation, he tentatively approached the wall and extended a single hand, and instead of touching the wall, it seemed to 'melt' straight through it. **"Whoa."** He breathed, and with a single step he was suddenly faced with a large red steam engine. After a few moments of simply gazing at the machine in awe, he allowed himself to satisfy his curiousity, his bright green eyes surveying the area. Children, teenagers and parents, all preparing to either get on the steam engine or bid their families goodbye surrounded him. Forcibly closing his mouth, Sloan turned his attention back to the Hogwarts Express and without wasting another moment, he started towards the train and climbed aboard.

Sloan watched in distaste as a group of what he assumed to be first years rushed by and barely avoided bowling him over, squealing and giggling with excitement and delight. Immediately he made a mental note to find either an empty compartment, or one that had sixth or seventh years._ I hope that the British are attractive. __He thought, and_ expressing an over-dramatic, exasperated sigh, he set off in search of a place to sit. After a minute or so, he slid the nearest compartment door open, already growing bored with his search. He had barely had a chance to peer into the compartment when he came face-to-face with a young man, his green eyes fixed onto a pair of bright grey ones. **"Whoa, sorry!" **Exclaimed the stranger, a crooked smile gracing his lips as he took a step back, allowing Sloan entry into the compartment. There were a few other people seated around him, but the male paid them no mind, his shocked gaze still fixated on the man he'd almost collided with. **"Ah, please, do not apologise. If anything, it was my fault." **He said awkwardly, stumbling over a few of his words as he tried not to speak too quickly. It wasn't anyone's fault, of course, but apologising for no particular reason seemed to be a sign of modesty, or perhaps politeness in certain cultures. The stranger frowned; not in a displeased manner, but a quizzical one. **"That accent... Are you French?" **He asked, running a single hand through his dark tresses. Sloan could feel the slightest amount of heat rising in his cheeks; for whatever reason, he wasn't sure of, but he decided to pin it on the fact that he was so noticeably different. After all, he had never met any British students at Beauxbatons – could it be that he would be the only French student at Hogwarts? **"Oui- ah, yes. My mother is moving to Britain this year, so I have transferred to Hogwarts for my final year of education." **He explained, trying to make his accent sound as un-French as possible. There were some British components to his accent, due to the amount of time he'd spent with his father's parents over the years, and although he liked to think it made him sound 'exotic' it just sounded odd, to put it bluntly. The stranger nodded and opened his mouth to speak again, but before he could get a word out, a feminine purr issued from the corner of the compartment, causing Sloan to take notice that there were others in the vicinity and he was probably being rather rude by ignoring them. **"How interesting!" **Gushed the female, her golden eyelashes batting in Sloan's direction.** "Hey, why don't you join us? There's plenty of room, and I'd **_**love**_** to hear about what it's like in France. You know I've always wanted to go there? I hear Paris is gorgeous…" **Putting on his best, charming smile so he wouldn't reveal just how put-off he was by the talkative female, Sloan hoisted his trunk up onto the luggage rack and lowered himself onto the seat closest to the compartment door, his gaze aimed over at the chattering girl. **"Thank you for allowing me to join you. And personally, I have always preferred the countryside in France. It has a much more natural beauty. I am not one for cities, although I am fond of the Louvre." **He said, allowing his gaze to travel across the young woman without shame. She was rather attractive, and there was no denying that. She was blonde, slim and tall – unfortunately, she had minimal curves, something he found mildly disappointing. In his eye, the curvier a woman was the more feminine she was, and men who were toned and muscled – but not ridiculously so – were the most masculine. As the girl started to prattle on again about how she would love to visit the Louvre one day, he allowed his stare to wander inquisitively around the compartment, taking in the features of those surrounding him. There were four others in the compartment – two girls, another blonde and a brunette, and two boys, a short boy with mousy-brown hair and the male who he'd first seen upon entering the compartment. Sloan allowed his gaze to settle on the latter, slowly taking in his features. He was tall, dark and handsome, with a nicely muscled build for his age group and those piercing grey eyes that Sloan had first seen. "**… By the way, I'm Lauren. This is Claire, Stephanie, Simon and the guy who almost ran over you is Cedric."** He blinked, suddenly becoming aware that he had been staring. Turning away from the boy – Cedric -, he casually turned his gaze to each of the others again in an attempt to make it look less like he'd been gawking solely at the dark-haired boy. **"It's a pleasure to meet you all. My name is Sloan, Sloan Renaud." **He stated with a smile, nodding at each of his new acquaintances in turn.

"**Sloan, huh? Well it's nice to meet you. Sorry to leave so suddenly, but I best head off to the Prefect's compartment… See you later, guys. Try to show some Hufflepuff hospitality to our new friend, eh?" **With a grin and wink, Cedric slid the compartment door open a bit wider and slipped through into the hall, just as the train gave a jerk and started to move away from the platform, gradually building up speed. As the compartment door slid shut once again, Sloan found himself turning reluctantly back to Lauren, whose questions had been joined by those of the other Hogwarts students. Biting back a sigh, he leaned back in his seat and decided to get comfortable, figuring that this journey was going to be quite a long one.

Rough translation:  
_La mère, le petit déjeuner est prêt - Mother, breakfast is ready__  
__Bonjour, chéri. Est-ce que vous êtes prêts à partir ? - Good morning, darling. Are you ready to leave?__  
__Presque - Almost__  
__Au revoir, mère. Je vous verrai dans les vacances - Goodbye, mother. I shall see you in the holidays__  
__Au revoir, chéri. S'il vous plaît, n'oubliez pas d'écrire. Faites attention, je vous manquerai - Goodbye, darling. Please, do not forget to write. Take care, I will miss you._


End file.
